The Pit
by Lil' Moore
Summary: Spock and McCoy are taken prisoners as "volunteer" test subjects. With only a vague idea as to what the test may entail, the two officers must do their best to survive being forced to live in the same pit...without driving each other insane! Friendship/Hurt/Comfort/Humor
1. Part 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Trek.**

* * *

McCoy woke feeling sore. Every joint, every muscle ached. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the orange tinted light that filled the room, and when they did, there wasn't much to see. The room, or rather, the pit was void of anything except its smooth, rock walls that stretched up into void darkness and the powdery, dirt floor. A single lightbulb hung in the center; what it hung from was impossible to tell, since there seemed to be no ceiling whatsoever.

The Doctor sat up slowly, wincing as his body screamed at him to be still. He touched his forehead when he felt a warm, trickling drop roll down his face. When he looked at his fingers, they were red with fresh blood.

"Well, this is just wonderful," McCoy grumbled. He checked his belt for his communicator and travel medkit, but both were missing. Now that he was sitting up, the gash in his head was starting to bleed much more freely, and he could feel the blood running down his face. He pressed his left hand against the cut to try to stop it until he could figure out a permanent solution.

"Doctor?"

McCoy startled, turning to look behind him.

Lying on the ground with his upper half propped up on his elbows was Spock! McCoy glanced over him briefly to check for obvious injuries, however, the Vulcan First Officer seemed to be unhurt except for just returning to consciousness. He was evaluating their surroundings blearily, and then staring up into the darkness above them.

"Am I correct in assuming, Doctor, that you were also unconscious when we were placed in this holding cell?"

"Hmm," McCoy agreed, "if that's what you want to call it, Spock."

"What other term would you give it, Doctor? We are being held here by the inhabitants of this planet. They are a more primitive species, and to them, this constitutes as a holding cell."

"Whatever you say, Spock," McCoy moaned, leaning forward as a sharp pain resonated from the cut in his head.

"You are in distress, Doctor," Spock said. "Are you injured?"

"No," McCoy replied, "I'm fine except for this nasty gash in my head. What about you, Spock? Are you hurt?"

"I am uninjured, Doctor. Allow me to examine your laceration."

Being in no mood to argue, McCoy gingerly removed his hand from his head as Spock approached and knelt in front of him. Spock took McCoy's face gently in his hands so that he could adjust its angle to get a better look. "It is deep, Doctor," Spock said, "Dangerously so. You need medical attention immediately."

"Thanks for reporting the obvious, Spock," McCoy said, pulling away and replacing his hand to the wound. "Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we have much to work with. The scoundrels took my medkit and our communicators."

Spock double checked his belt. "It is only logical that they confiscate our means of communication, Doctor, however inconvenient it might be."

McCoy huffed in displeasure. "Well, as long as it's logical."

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you were able to rest against the wall, Doctor," Spock suggested, "Until we are able to find a solution."

"Sure, Spock," McCoy said. He tried to stand up, but suddenly felt light headed from the loss of blood. He fell back with a thud before Spock could catch his arm.

"Allow me to assist you, Doctor," Spock said.

Spock gripped McCoy's right arm with his right hand, and wrapped his left arm around McCoy's waist. McCoy tried his best to lean as little weight as possible on Spock, simply for his pride's sake. He absolutely hated being the patient, no matter how ill or dire the situation might be. Together, they walked to the nearest "wall," and Spock helped McCoy sit down against it.

Spock said, "We have to apply pressure to the wound, Doctor; however, I do not believe that your method of application is adequate."

"Oh, you do not believe so, do you?" McCoy jabbed half-heartedly. He sighed and rested his head against the wall. "I need a compress."

"Yes, Doctor," Spock agreed.

"What all do we have for supplies that might work?" McCoy asked.

Both checked their pockets but found nothing. The only things they had was the clothes on their backs. This wasn't the first time that they had to make due with absolutely nothing, so McCoy let go of his head and started trying to tear off the left sleeve of his shirt. Spock immediately caught on to the Doctor's plan and offered his help. Within just a moment, McCoy left arm was exposed to the cool, but not uncomfortable, temperature of the pit.

Spock tore the sleeve into strips and folded one strip up into a rectangle just slightly bigger than McCoy's wound. He held it against McCoy's head, and McCoy used his left hand again to hold the compress in place. "Thanks, Spock," he muttered.

"We need to find a more permanent solution, Doctor," Spock said when he saw a crimson stain already seeping through the blue fabric. "You are still bleeding profusely."

"I'll be fine for now, Spock," McCoy said. "Why don't you search the pit and see if there is a way out."

As Spock was about to reply, something floated down out of the darkness. It was a little white parachute with a small bag attached. Both watched it, fascinated, until it landed on the ground with a light puff of dust curling around it. Spock went to retrieve it.

"What the heck is it?" McCoy asked.

Spock untied the parachute and opened the bag. "It appears to be a medical kit, Doctor."

"Thank goodness!" cried McCoy.

"I am afraid you will not be impressed with the contents, Doctor," Spock added. "It is a very archaic medical kit."

"As in?" McCoy asked.

Spock brought the bag over for McCoy's inspection. Just as he had assumed, McCoy's face paled as he realized what would have to be done. "This is a medical kit comparable to the early twenty first century, Spock!"

"It would appear so, Doctor," Spock agreed. "Perhaps the primitive natives have some awareness of earth…however, outdated."

"Outdated!" McCoy shouted. "This is archaic!"

"I believe that the term 'archaic' is a synonym of 'outdated,'" Spock said informatively.

McCoy retorted, "Yeah, well my word better fits the situation."

"I fail to see how…" Spock began.

"Oh, hush up, Spock," McCoy growled, "Logic has nothing to do with my emotional reaction to what's gonna happen."

"Obviously," Spock said.

"Spock, do you understand what you're gonna have to do to me?" McCoy asked.

"I believe the term is sutures," Spock said.

"Yes, stitches," McCoy shot back. "You're going to be sewing my skin together like an old quilt!"

"I have studied this procedure, Doctor, and am familiar with the process. It is rather simple. I believe I can do it effectively." Spock took the bag from McCoy and began to pull out all the items. Rubbing alcohol, antibacterial ointment, appropriate needles and thread, gauze, wrap, and even a small water bottle. Spock brought out the last container. "This will be helpful, Doctor. It is an oral pain reliever."

"How comforting," McCoy said sarcastically.

"I believe we should proceed with the sutures sooner rather than later. Putting off the inevitable will only heighten your psychological discomfort." Spock poured some rubbing alcohol on his hands.

"You know that doesn't really do much to sanitize anything," McCoy griped, glowering at the bottle.

"It is the best we have under the circumstances, Doctor," Spock said. He picked up a gauze pad and wetted it with alcohol, and then poured a small amount of the water onto it. "I must clean your wound before we proceed."

"Let me do it!" McCoy said, reaching for the gauze.

Spock held it just out of reach. "I may not be a doctor, but I am trained extensively in first aid."

McCoy grumbled under his breath, but he did remove the make-shift gauze they had made from his shirt sleeve. The garish wound was still bleeding freely. Spock leaned forward and began gently dabbing the gauze around the wound, wiping away the dried blood and dirt from around the area. He tried to avoid the open area; however, several times, McCoy hissed curses that Spock chose not to hear.

"I am finished cleaning the laceration," Spock said, sitting back. He gave McCoy a clean gauze to press against the cut while he prepped the needle and thread.

McCoy watched with ever growing distress at the impending operation. "Perhaps we should wait and see if we're rescued before you do anything, Spock," he suggested almost kindly, as though somehow holding off would benefit the First Officer in some way.

Spock shook his head. "I'm sorry, Doctor. That would not be in your best interest." When McCoy opened his mouth to argue, Spock added, "If I were in your situation, Doctor, and you were in mine, what would be your course of action?"

McCoy didn't have to reply for Spock to know that he had made his point. He raised an eye brow in silent victory, and finished threading the needle. "Would it be more comfortable if you were laying down, Doctor?"

McCoy looked pale as he nodded. Spock helped him to recline, and used the empty bag as a prop for the Doctor's head. "Just get it over with, okay?" McCoy moaned.

The procedure required five stitches. While Spock had studied the art of suturing, it was the first time he had ever been called upon to preform the, as McCoy had so eloquently put it, archaic method. He remained ever cool under the situation, but his human half caused his heart to race and drop every time the Doctor hissed in pain. With no numbing, it had to be rather painful. Spock hated to be the cause, but he knew that leaving the wound unattended would result direly.

When he had finished, he put a healthy layer of antibiotic ointment on a piece of clean gauze and covered the wound. He then used the wrap to fasten the gauze to McCoy's head. Once this was also completed, he offered the Doctor a pain reliever tablet and the water bottle.

"This should reduce the pain, Doctor," he said needlessly.

McCoy nodded mutely and took the medication without any resistance. Spock helped him sit back up against the stone wall, and sat down beside him. While he returned their meager medical supplies to their bag, McCoy sighed. "You did good, Spock," he muttered.

"Thank you, Leonard."

They sat in silence for some time, McCoy breathing heavily with his eyes closed and his head resting against the wall. Finally, he opened his eyes. "We need to talk about what happened up there," he said. "Why did they take us? And why just us? Where is Jim, Scotty, and Chekov? Did they get captured too? Are they in a different pit? And how did this," McCoy poked his bandage, "happen? I know we were rendered unconscious, but I don't remember anything except meeting those Neeloni people."

"Most of your questions are impossible to answer without more information," Spock said.

McCoy snorted.

"However," Spock continued, "I believe we may have a way to further investigate."

"How?" McCoy asked, "There's nothing down here except us, that stupid medkit, and that darned orange lightbulb."

"You seem to have forgotten, Doctor, that we received this medkit after expressing your need for medical attention. Obviously, somehow, we are under observation."

McCoy considered for a moment. "You're right, Spock. As soon as you mentioned how dangerous my injury was, that medkit came floating down out of the darkness with that parachute."

"Precisely," Spock said. He stood up and walked several steps away from the wall. Looking up into the darkness, he said, "People of Neeloni, Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy and I, First Officer Commander Spock, request information as to our capture and holding."

McCoy didn't think it would actually work, but within a few moments, another parachute came down, this time, attached to it, a piece of paper. Spock caught it before it touched the ground.

"Well, what does it say?" McCoy asked impatiently.

"'We would like to express our appreciation for your willingness and cooperation to participate in our growth as an intellectual people. We seek to understand how humans adapt to new, unfamiliar, and even threatening scenarios. Once we have completed our tests, you, Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock, will be free to return to your starship,'" Spock read.

"Hey!" McCoy declared, now also addressing the darkness, "I never agreed to anything of the sort! Now as for Spock, it wouldn't surprise me, but I know for an absolute fact I would never willingly cooperate to be a human lab rat."

"What of our companions?" Spock asked.

A couple of delayed moments later, another parachute with a note came down. Again, Spock caught it and read aloud. "Our apologies, Doctor McCoy, for any misunderstandings that may have occurred. As to the state of your companions, they have been returned to your starship unharmed. We only required two test subjects. You are both adequately qualified.'"

"How do I get unqualified?" McCoy asked.

Spock ignored the Doctor and again addressed their captors. "We would like to speak with you face to face. The method with which you are currently communicating is inefficient."

Another note came down, stating, 'Any personal interference with the test subjects would void the experiment. Our apologies for the inconvenience.'

That made McCoy laugh. He yelled up, "Oh, sure! Well, how is this for inconvenient? Have you thought about where our bathroom should be?"

It was a question, Spock decided, only the Doctor would think of; however, he too wondered and allowed the question to go without further comment.

Another note. "'We have provided a small chamber.'"

As Spock read this, the wall on the far side of the room suddenly split into a door sized rectangle. Inside was a toilet and sink. McCoy rolled his eyes and sat back. "Well, if they haven't thought of everything! What about food?"

"'Meals will be provided periodically.'"

"May I ask the reasons behind these tests and why we were specifically chosen as the subjects?" Spock asked.

"'Classified.'"

"Give us a hint," McCoy said, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. However, after that, no reply note came. They waited for at least five minutes with no further reply. McCoy sighed, "Well, at least we have a nice collection of parachutes."

 **TBC**


	2. Part 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the encouraging reviews and comments. I do consider this to be a short story with three parts. Here is part 2! :)**

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McCoy went into the bathroom to check his wound in the very small mirror provided over the sink. While he didn't directly compliment Spock, he didn't entirely complain, which Spock perceived as a positive sign. McCoy reapplied some antibiotic and put the gauze back in place.

"I have never appreciated modern medicine more than I do at this moment," McCoy grumbled, coming out of the bathroom to sit beside Spock against the wall. McCoy was silent, waiting for Spock to join in the conversation he had begun; however, Spock sat silent, staring up at their little lightbulb with distracted interest. "Well," McCoy prompted, "aren't you gonna say something? Like why you think we're locked down here in this pit? Why we were 'adequate'?"

"I do not have enough information to reply to those questions," Spock stated.

McCoy smirked. "Well, just speculate. Give me an educated guess. You studied these people before we beamed down. What's their MO?"

"Uncertain," Spock said. He began to lay out the response papers in the order they had received them. "And I believe speculation to be highly illogical."

"I'm not saying I'm gonna take your uneducated opinion as gospel truth!" cried McCoy, his southern drawl thickening as he became heated. "I just want to have a conversation."

"I process information most effectively in silence, Doctor."

"Are you telling me to 'shut up,' Spock?" McCoy asked.

Spock frowned. "Of course not, Doctor. I am simply stating a truth."

"Oh, if that's all," McCoy muttered. "Well, you can have all the silence you want, 'cause I'm going to sleep!" With those final, triumphant words, McCoy slid down so that he was lying down, rolled over with his back to Spock, and folded his left arm under his head as a makeshift pillow.

"Goodnight, Doctor," Spock said.

"Oh, shut up, Spock."

OoOoOoOoO

"How long do you suppose we've been down here, Spock?" McCoy asked. He had just finished analyzing his wound. Thanks to the skillful suturing of Spock the skin was starting to fuse itself together naturally. McCoy was now letting the scar breathe, occasionally applying the antibiotic to be sure no infection crept in before it was entirely closed. Based on his scar alone, he could tell they had been imprisoned for over a week.

"Approximately 10 days, Doctor, based on my internal calculation of time. However, I fear that I am becoming impaired due to the circumstances at hand," Spock replied.

McCoy smiled. "That's about my estimate too, based on this little beauty." He pointed to his head. "It's my _external_ clock."

Spock hummed his vague appreciation at McCoy's attempted humor and then continued rereading the notes they had received from the Neeloni scientists…or whatever they were.

"For heaven's sake, Spock!" McCoy cried. "You've been either sleeping or studying those darned papers. What do you think you're going to get out of those letters that you haven't gotten out of them the past 10 days?"

"Unknown, Doctor; however, as there seems little to be done otherwise, I do not understand why it vexes you that I do so."

"Aren't you bored out of your mind?" McCoy asked. "Don't you want to talk about something other than this pit? Don't you want to play a game?"

Now it was Spock's turn to frown. While he had spent his time pouring over their letters from the Neelonis, McCoy had spent a significant amount of time creating something like a board game. In one of the corners of the room, McCoy had taking handfuls of water from the bathroom sink and created a thick, muddy surface. Then, he drew what looked like a chessboard, with carefully measured, almost nearly perfect squares. Spock had pointed out that McCoy had left out one row if he meant for it to be an accurate depiction of such a board. The critique was not well received, and Spock had not ventured to the corner again. McCoy had then taken one of the parachutes and torn it into tiny pieces. Splitting them into two piles, the stained one pile a muddy brown and the other pile he left white.

Since the painstaking completion of his checker game, he had been trying to convince Spock to play a game with him, so far to no avail.

"I find that our time would best be spent finding a solution to our current dilemma," Spock said. They had not received any further correspondence from their captors except for an occasional parachute drop of a meal for each of them. These did not come at regular intervals, thereby attributing to Spock's impaired internal clock.

"Come now, Spock," McCoy said. "You can't try to think of solutions 24/7. You'll wear yourself out. You need to take your mind off the situation for awhile so that you'll come back to it with a fresh mind. It always works better that way."

"I regret to say that in our current circumstances, I do not agree with you," Spock said. "I receive adequate rest frequently, thereby improving my thought process considerably. I do not require an alternate activity to perform better mentally."

"Darn it, Spock! All I'm asking for is one game."

"I must again decline your offer," Spock said.

McCoy huffed and walked away from Spock, mid-sentence, to the far side of the pit. He started dragging the heel of his boot heavily across the ground, leaving a shallow rut trail as he walked backward. The line was mostly straight, with a few wiggles and curves here and there where McCoy almost lost his balance. However, he continued his course until he had completed it to the far side of the pit.

"Doctor?" Spock inquired.

McCoy smiled unhappily. "This is my side of the pit, and that," McCoy waved his arms in Spock's general direction, "is your side, Spock."

"The concept is highly juvenile," Spock said.

"Well, I don't care," McCoy snapped. "You keep your statistics and logic on your side of the pit, and I'll keep my sanity and self-pity on my side."

"Doctor, if you will allow me to…"

"Ah!" McCoy interrupted, "If I want your explanations, I will come to your side." McCoy raised an eyebrow of warning before going over to his wall and sitting down against it. He closed his eyes so he couldn't see Spock staring at him curiously.

"Your behavior is highly illogical," Spock said after several moments of silence. "One moment, you desire my company, the very next you refuse to be spoken to at all."

"It's called the silent treatment, Spock," McCoy said, not opening his eyes. "It means I'm mad as heck at you and I'm gonna prove it by keeping my mouth shut."

"You are failing considerably."

McCoy smirked. "And why would you care, Spock? I thought you processed information best when I kept my mouth shut. 'Sides, the only reason I'm talking is 'cause you're talking to me first."

Spock was quiet for a few seconds. "That is accurate. I will resume my investigation."

"Fine by me," McCoy muttered.

OoOoOoOoO

McCoy scowled down at his makeshift board. After their umpteenth round of checkers, he still hadn't won a single game. "You're cheating," he said decisively.

"Untrue, Doctor," Spock replied. "I am merely enlisting a simple algorithm to calculate your gameplay based on information gathered from previous matches."

"You make it sound so easy," McCoy grumbled sarcastically, sitting back. "Well, then, you're danged lucky!"

Spock tilted his head slightly. "Luck has nothing to do with it. I have just explained to you my method…"

"I know you did, Spock!" McCoy cried. "I was just teasing you."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"So," McCoy said, "how about another round?"

"I believe we should return to the problem of our captivity," Spock said.

McCoy sighed. "There's nothing to return to, Spock! We've been locked up in this pit for almost two weeks with nothing to go on except those stupid little notes they sent us right in the beginning. We're their oversized lab rats. They're not gonna let us go until either they finish up their little experiment or Jim finally gets around to rescuing us."

"I'm sure the Captain is putting forward the utmost effort."

"So am I," McCoy agreed. "I only wish he'd hurry up about it. Do you know what it's like to be cooped up with a Vulcan for two weeks with nothing but slim reading material and a homemade board game? Oh, wait, of course, you don't."

Spock quietly accepted the jab before offering one of his own, "Just as I am sure you are not aware of the issues involved in being forcibly incarcerated with a human whose main purpose would seem to be that of preventing any feasible research from being done."

McCoy grinned. "Attaboy, Spock! That's the best comeback yet."

"Thank you, Doctor. You were correct in stating that it becomes easier with practice."

"But to be serious, Spock," McCoy said, "what _have_ you gathered from those little notes? I mean, they're just simple to me…those Neelonis mean what they say and say what they mean."

Spock picked up the thin stack of papers and reread a line of the first one aloud, _We seek to understand how humans adapt to new, unfamiliar, and even threatening scenarios_. "Evidently, the Neelonis believe that by putting us in confinement together, they are witnessing how we adapt to 'new, unfamiliar,' and 'threatening scenarios'."

"We've worked together for years, Spock," McCoy said. "That doesn't fall under any one of those categories…except maybe 'threatening'."

"Agreed, Doctor," Spock said, and while his face remained placid, something of a smile shone in his eyes. "However, I believe that when they said 'threatening', they were referring to your injury."

"I guess giving us an old medkit was pretty unfamiliar and new," McCoy said. "However, why us? Why not Jim and you? Or Chekov and Scotty? Why were _we_ chosen as candidates for the experiment?"

"While we have worked together for several years, it was always under the mediation of the Captain, who is, in short, our mutual friend. That dictates that we being in this scenario together would also be new and unfamiliar to us."

"Don't forget 'threatening'," McCoy said.

"I apologize, Doctor, but you must refrain from using that form of jest more than once. The more you utilize it, the less humorous it becomes."

McCoy was quiet for a couple of moments. "Noted," he finally muttered.

"But to continue our discourse," Spock said, "I believe that the answers to our inquiries lie within ourselves. Obviously, we were chosen as candidates for the experiment at hand because of our unique attributes."

"Go on then," McCoy said when Spock stopped short of explaining.

"That is all I have, Doctor," Spock said. "I hoped that you would expound on the matter, given your emotional understanding of the situation as the experiment appears to be entirely illogical. We have been here for almost two weeks with no further involvement from our captors other than to provide us with adequate food and water."

"So you want me to speculate…emotionally?" McCoy asked.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor."

"Well," McCoy said with a grin, "Someone has had a change of heart."

"If you are referring to my previous comment about speculation being illogical," Spock said, "you are correct. However, I will further say that logic does not seem to be our captors' prime objective. They have placed us in a situation which requires a method other than the obvious."

"What you're saying is," McCoy mused, "is that this situation which the Neelonis have placed _you_ specifically in, mentally, is 'new and unfamiliar' to you?"

Spock almost looked surprised. "That is true," he said.

"We've been thinking about this all wrong, Spock," McCoy said. "These crazy Neelonis haven't been testing us physically…they've been testing us mentally this entire time. Never once have we been hungry, too hot, too cold. Except for my head injury, which may have been an accident, we've been perfectly fine. We've been getting what we need when we need it. The only thing that has been 'new and unfamiliar' is dealing with the mental strain caused by each other!"

"Your theory does answer many of the questions we have been posing since our capture. Further, it identifies why we were specifically chosen."

McCoy smiled. "The two of us together, without Jim as our mediator, puts us in a unique situation which would be interesting to observe wouldn't it?"

"We do have a history of disagreeing with one another's methods," Spock said. "Placing the two of us together in such a way as to force us to accept one another's methods as valid sources of information would be a reasonable experiment."

"Too bad it took us almost two weeks to figure it out," McCoy said.

Spock shook his head. "All that we have just discussed is speculation, Doctor. We can not establish it as fact until we have evidence of it."

"What more evidence do you need?" McCoy asked.

"For the Neelonis to tell us that such is the case." Spock stood up and turned to address the darkness above them. "Have we completed your tests?"

McCoy waited with bated breath. He had full confidence in his conclusion, and he supposed, given the fact that Spock had again addressed the Neelonis with their verdict, that Spock also thought they had hit the nail on the head. As they stared up at the darkness above them, a door, which had been entirely invisible before, suddenly opened across the pit.

"You have indeed," the Neeloni said, entering the pit.

Spock simply turned to face the intruder while McCoy nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Gracious!" he cried.

The Neeloni smiled. "I apologize for frightening you, Doctor McCoy. I assure you, it was not intentional."

"I wasn't scared," McCoy said. "You just startled me, is all."

"Are we free to return to the _Enterprise_?" Spock asked.

"Almost," the Neeloni said. "First, allow us to debrief you on the details of these tests. We would like to help you understand our reasoning, and perhaps appreciate the effort we went to perform them."

"I do not believe that we are in any position to refuse your offer," Spock said blandly.

The Neeloni laughed. "Quite." He motioned for them to follow before he turned and disappeared through the doorway.

McCoy and Spock looked at each other briefly before they followed.

 **TBC**


End file.
